The New Life (Revised Version)
by anagram29
Summary: Five years after graduating from college, Emma Hawthorne is living in New York City. She's created a new life for herself complete with new friends, a thriving career as a writer for the New York Times, and a perfect boyfriend. But what happens when a certain ex-boyfriend turns out to be her new partner?
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One: In Which We are Re-Introduced to Emma_

I take a deep breath, smiling as I feel cold air rush into my lungs. The air in New York City isn't known for its freshness, but here at the tip of Manhattan by South Ferry, the fierce winds blowing make it seem fresh. Leaning back against the railing that separates me from the grey water of the East River, I glance at the towering skyscrapers of the Financial District. While they create a formidable barrier that seems intimidating, New York City has ceased to feel cold and overwhelming. Instead, in the five years I've lived here, it's become second nature to navigate the crowded city, embracing all the craziness and uncertainty that comes with it.

A particularly strong gust of wind whips my curls into a frenzy, but when I reach up to fix it, a voice cries, "Wait! That looks _fantastic_!"

I drop my hand uncertainly and squint through the curtain of hair at the source of the voice, Victor Cahill, my boyfriend. "Are you serious?"

He nods, peering intently at his camera as he takes photo after photo. As a freelance photographer, Victor spends a lot of his spare time doing impromptu photo shoots around the city, and today he managed to rope me into being a subject.

After ten minutes, I'm beginning to regret it, though. It's an unseasonably cold December day, only a week before Christmas. The high temperature of today was supposed to only hit 25º, and with the wind down by the water, it's even colder. Soon, I'm shivering and stamping my feet in an effort to keep warm.

Finally, Victor lowers the camera begins to adjust the lens. In his black jeans and black felt coat, he looks every bit the artist that he is. After a few moments, he joins me, slipping an arm around my shoulder and kissing the top of my head. In this position, the height difference between is even more pronounced than usual. I seem to be stuck at just over five foot four inches while Victor tops six feet. We stand there for a few minutes, even though the sun is slipping behind the buildings across the water, and it's progressively getting chillier.

"Are you cold?" he asks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you standing here for so long—you know how I get when I've got a camera."

I tilt my head up to smile at him. "No, it's fine. I get what it's like to be 'in the zone.' I'm a writer, remember? But we should probably get going, it's nearly"—I push my sleeve up to look at my watch—"five o'clock, and Janelle and Gabe are coming over at seven."

But despite my warning, the two of us take our time walking to the subway station. Hands clasped, we dart across the narrow winding streets of downtown Manhattan and stop at any store window that looks interesting. By the time we reach the Bowling Green station, we're flushed, both from the cold and laughter.

Swiping our MetroCards, we make it onto a train whose doors are just closing. The train is packed so as we hurtle through the tunnels that weave under New York, we stand by the door, clinging to a pole. At City Hall the train empties out considerably and we're even able to snag a couple of seats next to each other.

"Are you excited for Christmas, even though you're not going to LA?" Victor asks me.

I smile and squeeze and his hand. "Of course. Because I'm not going to Los Angeles means that you and I can finally spend a holiday together."

For the past three years that Victor and I have been dating, we've been unable to spend Christmas together since I fly out to LA to be with my parents. They moved a few months after I graduated from college, almost five years ago. "I kind of miss having seasons," my father once admitted to me, but we both know that moving to California was the right decision for them. My mother, as efficient and vibrant as she is, was hit with crippling arthritis that was only exacerbated by the extreme winters in Concord. Since the move, she's improved and is nearly back to normal.

"I have to agree," he says. "But we'll see how well those potatoes you promised to make turn out."

I grin. While I'm a good baker, cooking is not my forte and Victor, whose Italian heritage ensures he's a skillful cook, loves to tease me about it.

Too soon, the train is pulling into the 86th Street station and the two of us are heading out into the dusky streets of the Upper East Street. The streetlights are on and all around us people are rushing around, arms filled with shopping bags. Back at my apartment, Victor busies himself preparing dinner while I tidy up and set the table. As usual, the tiny apartment is overflowing with books and I try and replace them on various shelves.

At seven-thirty, Gabe and Janelle arrive "fashionably late" as Janelle jokes. For a few moments, the tiny hall is chaotic as hugs are exchanged, coats are hung up, and Gabe gives several bottles of wine to me. After I've put away the bottles and given everybody drinks of their choice, the four of us sit in the living room, chatting while soft music spills from speakers.

I perch on the arm of Victor's chair, eyeing my group of friends happily. Janelle and Gabe are my oldest friends in New York. I met the two of them at a local coffee house before they even started dating and we easily expanded a couple of years later to include Victor. Janelle is small and vivacious with long brown hair and green eyes that seem to see everything. Gabe is as tall and lean with close cropped black hair, skin that seems tanned year round, and is as laid back as Janelle is persistent.

A glass of wine in her hand, Janelle leans forward and draws a folder of papers on the coffee table towards her. "What's this?" she asks, flipping through the stack of papers.

"Just some work," I answer casually.

Janelle's eyes widen. "Work?" she asks incredulously. "On a Sunday? Honestly, Emma, where does it end?"

I laugh. "Soon, I think. I've asked for a partner and my boss says he's hired somebody."

"About time," Gabriel says. "You've been working non-stop for the past year. I'm surprised you haven't got white hair yet."

"That's hardly likely," I scoff. "I haven't been working _that_ hard."

"I wouldn't be sure about that," Victor comments, his dark eyes shining with amusement. " Today was your first full day off in what—a month?"

"Oh, Victor," Janelle pipes up. "It's been far longer than that. About two and a half months, I'd say."

"Maybe even three," Gabe adds, and I spy a flicker of a smile on his face.

I regard them sourly for a moment. "Oh, I see what this is," I say. "You're ganging up on me to make me feel guilty."

The three of them burst out laughing and after a moment, I can't help but join in. When we calm down, I take a sip of wine. "Honestly, though, I know that I've been way too busy with work lately, especially with the column. That's why I really started hounding Hobson—my boss—to hire a partner."

"Oh, Em," Victor says, draping an arm around my shoulders. "We know; we were just teasing. That column is a big deal, and we're really proud of you."

I smile at him. Six months ago, I was promoted and given my own column along with my regular reports. While it's a big honor and it's been a blast writing about whatever I feel like, it has also significantly increased my workload. My assignments seem to come at me thick and fast so to keep ahead, I've been working overtime and over the weekends.

"We really are," Gabe tells me. "I read your articles every day."

"Nice to know that I've got a fan base," I joke. "Anyway, that's enough about work, on to the big question: who's hungry?"

* * *

"You know you can go," I say, placing my hands on my hips.

"Yeah, I know," Victor says, flashing me a grin from where he's elbow deep in soapy water. "It would be unfair to leave you with all these dishes, especially since you didn't make most of them."

"What a gentleman," I tease. "And here I was thinking chivalry was dead."

Victor laughs and I laugh, too. His laugh is infectious and irresistible; in fact, it was one of the things that first drew me to him. But he's more than just a pretty face or a nice laugh. He's a talented photographer and artist with a sharp tongue and equally sharp wit. And, as proven by the washing-up, always keen to help out wherever he can. Of course, he's not perfect. He has his ups and downs, but who doesn't?

We've been dating for three years, ever since I was twenty-three and he was twenty-five, but haven't taken any major steps like moving in together or getting engaged. True, his stuff is scattered all around my apartment, just like mine is at his, but we haven't formally moved into one shared apartment. Occasionally, he'll bring it up but I always find an excuse to avoid the topic. A small voice in my head asks if Stewart is the reason I'm hesitant to move forward, but I always brush it away; thinking about Stewart helps nobody, and besides, we've been over for years. I'm over it.

"All right, the dishes are done," Victor breaks through my thoughts. "I should probably get going—it's past midnight and we both have work tomorrow."

"Right, of course," I say, pushing away my thoughts away.

I follow him to the front door and wait as he pulls on his coat. "We're still meeting at my apartment for dinner tomorrow?" he checks.

"Uh-huh," I say, leaning up to give him a kiss and neither of us pull away for a few minutes. When we finally break apart, I smile and give him a gentle shove towards the front door. "Okay, it's time for you to go. I need to get to bed."

He gives me another quick kiss before leaving. As I brush my teeth, I wander through my apartment, flipping lights off in different rooms; the living room where my work papers are still on the coffee table and bookshelves are stuffed with books; the dining room where crumbs remain on the table from the fruit tart we had for dessert; the tiny kitchen where the dish drainer is full of clean dishes courtesy of Victor; and finally my bedroom where the walls are hung with both framed and unframed photos taken by Victor and of my family and Jess.

After finishing my bathroom routine, I slip under the covers, lying still for a couple of minutes. Before long, though, I feel the mattress dip slightly and soon a furry paw bats at my hand. I sit up and laugh. Beside me is my cat, Hocus. He was a going away present from my parents when I moved to New York. They claimed I needed company in my apartment, and they were right. Without Hocus, it would seem awfully empty.

I scratch him under the chin. "Come out now that everybody's left?" I coo.

Hocus, a small brown tabby, twitches his tail. I named him Hocus for the expression "Hocus-pocus," because he disappears whenever people come over. I lie back down and he curls up on my stomach.

Careful not to disturb the cat, I lean over and set my alarm for five-thirty. Switching the lamp next to my bed off, I close my eyes. I try to calm my mind so I can get to sleep. However, as my mind relaxes, barriers that I manage to keep up when I'm awake begin to relax and the image of a tall, dark haired young man with humorous grey eyes slips in. I groan, burying my head in my pillow and banish the thought from my head. _Stewart is gone_, I remind myself. _He's out of your life. It was his choice and so there's no need to think about him_.

* * *

Author's Note: Aaaand I'm back! Firstly, I'm so sorry that this is about three months late. Real life has been crazy what with school work and being sick but I hope to be back on track with a regular updating schedule soon.

Secondly, as you can see, I've changed a lot of things about The New Life, starting with the location. I've actually never been to Seattle which made it a little problematic to write a story there so I switched the setting to New York (my hometown)! David (or rather, Victor) has been changed a little as has the timeline of the story. In addition, the chapters might be split up differently but the story should stick to the same plot I set up in the original version with a few scenes added or deleted.

I hope you all enjoy this-let me know what you think by leaving a review :)


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two: In Which Emma Meets Her New Partner _

The next morning my alarm goes off far too early. When I pry open my eyes with a huge yawn, my bedroom is still shrouded in darkness. But my alarm clock reads 5:45 AM which means it's time to get up. I stumble off to the bathroom where I take a steaming hot shower. Afterwards, a cup of coffee and a cold breakfast wake me up enough to be able to contemplate facing the day.

As I wash the dishes, I twitch aside the curtain that covers the window above the sink. It's a dreary day; it's warmed up enough that it's raining instead of snowing and people with umbrellas rush down the street. With a sigh, I drop the curtain and retreat to my bedroom to pick out an outfit. Since I'm not planning on doing anything except write, I decide to dress casually which is just as well since the only clean clothes I can find in my closet are a pair of black skinny jeans and a blouse. Once dressed, I pull on a pair of rain boots and stick flats in my bag before feeding Hocus, grabbing an umbrella, and heading out.

It's even gloomier than it looked from my window, and with each step I take towards the subway, my spirits sink lower and lower. For starters, it's a Monday which is enough to depress anybody, and for another, it's freezing cold. The subway ride is damp and humid with people's umbrellas and coats dripping everywhere and by the time I get off, my jeans are unpleasantly damp. Walking the four blocks that separate the subway station and my office building, I get hit in the head with four umbrellas and stepped on twice. Still, standing outside my building's front doors, a smile creeps across my face as I marvel that I actually work for the _New York Times_.

I walk through the lobby—which is decorated to the hilt with Christmas decorations—and take the elevator up the newsroom. As usual, people are rushing around with coffee in one hand and fresh newspapers in the other. I manage to make it to my cubicle unscathed and put down all my stuff on the spare desk that will someday belong to my partner. Whenever they arrive. Just as I'm finishing switching out my rain boots for flats, I notice a man standing in the entrance to my "office," with his arms crossed.

"Hawthorne!" barks my boss, Gregory Hobson.

"Yes, sir?" I say, tucking my boots neatly beneath my desk.

"Why aren't you up by reception waiting?" he demands.

"Ummm…" I stall, racking my brain for what I should be waiting for. I come up empty. "Waiting for what, sir?"

He glowers at me. "Your new partner; I sent you an email saying he'd be arriving today. Didn't you get it?"

My mind flickers guiltily to my untouched computer and the dozens of emails that must be piled up over my weekend off. "Apparently not. But I'll go up front and wait if you'd like."

Hobson sighs deeply, obviously trying to mask his irritation. "No need. I asked Miranda to keep a look out for him."

I nod respectfully; no need to upset Hobson anymore.

After a moment of peering over the cubicle wall, he nods approvingly. "Here he comes. Dressed for the job, too," he says, glancing at my outfit. I cross my arms defiantly.

As Miranda, the receptionist, and my new partner draw closely, I can hear Miranda flirting blatantly with him. He must be pretty good looking if she's being that obvious; she's usually picky about who she's associated with.

Miranda, who is tall and slender with long, dark hair, appears at the entrance to the cubicle. "…and this is your new cubicle. Let me know if you need anything at all."

She steps aside, fluttering her eyelashes and smiling coyly. I mentally throw up. I can't stand Miranda.

Hobson steps in front of me, effectively blocking my view of the new partner. "Hi, I'm Gregory Hobson. We spoke on the phone?"

"Of course," he replies. "Nice to meet you."

I can see the two men shaking hands, but I frown. Why does that voice sound familiar? It's like an old photograph; so faded and worn that it takes my brain a moment to locate it. And when it finally does, I feel as though I might throw up. I have a faint moment of hope; don't lots of men have similar voices? But what he says next, sends my heart plummeting.

"And as you know, I'm Stewart Chadwick."

For a moment, I think I'm hallucinating. But then it sinks in and it's as if all the breath has been knocked out of me and my world is crashing down around me simultaneously. Literally. After getting my heart broken by Stewart, I picked myself up and moved to New York where I found a new apartment, job, friends, and a loving boyfriend. I created a life that was entirely my own. But in a single moment, Stewart Chadwick has sent every tumbling down. Despite my efforts to get away from him, he's now going to be working in the same city, at the same newspaper, on the same articles, in the same _cubicle_.

Hobson and Stewart are still talking, oblivious to my inner thoughts and turmoil. As if from a great distance, I hear Hobson stating the workplace policies; what time to arrive, what type of articles are expected, rules of conduct (no dating other employees, dress code, etc). It's the exact same spiel he gave me when I first arrived.

Finally, Hobson ends his monologue and angles himself so Stewart and I can see each other. "Chadwick, this is Emma Hawthorne, your partner. You two will be working very closely together with each other."

Stewart and I lock eyes, and under the scrutiny of his grey eyes, I suddenly forget everything except his presence and the fact I feel extremely self-conscious. _Does my hair look okay?_ I wonder, reaching up a hand to smooth down my unruly curls. _Why, oh why, did I decide to wear jeans today? _I realize that I'm acting like my teenage self and quickly drop my hand. Steeling myself, I meet his gaze as evenly and confidently as I can manage.

I realize that Hobson has stopped talking is obviously waiting for us to do something. Do what? _Oh, right_, I remember vaguely, when people meet, they usually shake hands. In a daze, I hold out my hand and Stewart grasps it firmly, before glancing over at Hobson.

"Actually, Emma and I go way back. We worked on our high school paper together," he says. I'm annoyed to see he doesn't look as half as shocked as I feel. In fact, the side of his mouth is quirked upward in what's almost a smile.

I'm surprised to see that Hobson looks, well, gleeful. He claps his hands boyishly. "Oh, good," he says. "Now you won't have to go to the bother of getting to know each other."

I force a smile which feels more like a grimace. "I suppose so."

Hobson claps his hands again. "All right, I'll leave you two to work things out." Glancing at the second desk in the cubicle which is covered with my stuff, he adds, "Hawthorne, you might want to make some space for Chadwick there."

"Of course," I mutter resentfully, staring after his retreating back.

Stewart and I are left in an awkward silence because Hobson was very wrong about one thing; we absolutely will need to get to know each other. Since the time we were in high school we've always wrote as a couple with the exception of a couple of rough patches. We've never worked together under any other circumstance, let alone as adults at a prestigious newspaper.

As the minutes tick by, the two of us remain standing, trying to pretend that we're not sneaking glances at each other. He's dressed, as Hobson pointed out, in a full suit complete with a tie and ironed white shirt. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets and I can tell he's freshly shaved. He looks much more mature than when I last saw him five years ago and when he lifts his left hand to run it through his hair, my heart does a little tap dance routine when I notice he's not wearing a wedding ring. I'm immediately disgusted with myself; don't I remember what happened five years ago?

"So," Stewart says, the corner of his mouth twitching up again, "it's nice to see you again."

"Oh, don't pretend this is some kind of happy, normal reunion," I snap, still annoyed by the fact my subconscious got excited when I noticed he wasn't married. "Why are you here anyway?"

His gray eyes widen innocently and he has the audacity to look offended. "I'm here to start my new job," he says.

"Oh, so it's just a coincidence that you ended up at the _New York Times_ as my partner?" I ask waspishly, aware that I'm not giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Stewart shrugs, that half smile appearing again. "I wasn't about to give up a job at one of most well-known and credible papers in the US."

"So you had absolutely no idea I was working here," I continue skeptically.

"I took the job and then when I really started to read the paper to see what I was getting into, boom, there was your column. E.J. Hawthorne," he says, that little smile on his lips.

I frown. When did that habit start? I can't remember him doing that when we were dating. Still, he looks like he's telling the truth and he's here to help lighten my workload. If he has to be here, he may as well be useful.

So I drop the cold attitude and strive for a polite, detached tone. "Right, well. Welcome to the_ New York Times_."

Stewart looks surprised by my change of attitude but takes it in stride. "Thanks, Emma. I'm happy to be working here."

I cross the cubicle and clear my belongings from Stewart's desk with a sweep of my arm. "This will be your new desk," I tell him and rifle through the file cabinet that is between the two desks and find a thick folder of notes. "And these notes are on an article we'll be focusing on for the next few weeks."

"Sounds great," Stewart replies and takes the folder from me. "I'll get to work."

I watch him critically for a moment and then sit at my own desk where I begin to type up my column. However, I can barely concentrate since Stewart is sitting barely two feet away. The cubicle is tiny and most of the noise from the rest of the office is muffled so I can hear everything: the rhythm of Stewart's breathing, the faint rustle of the papers, and the brush of fabric when he moves his arms.

I'm so distracted that it takes me several moments to realize that Stewart is calling my name. "Yes?" I ask him, clearing my mind.

"I've done all I can by myself," he tells me. "I think now is when we're supposed to collaborate."

I stand and check over his work; it's well done and thorough. "It's good," I say stiffly. "And you're right; we do need to work on it together now."

I drag my chair over to his desk and situate myself so there's a good six inches of space between us. The two of us lean over the sheaf of papers, but if I thought I was distracted before, I can barely string a sentence together. The smell of his cologne is overwhelming, leaving me tongue tied and bringing back memories of our relationship.

Abruptly, I stand up. "I think I need some more caffeine," I say forcing a smile and pointing to my empty mug. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Stewart looks surprised, but nods. "All right, well I'll be here."

The break room is empty and quiet, save for the humming of the vending machine. I throw myself into a chair and cover my face with my hands. I need to keep it together so I begin to sort through my thoughts. What is it about Stewart that makes it so difficult? Well, for starters, our relationship has a lot of loose ends which I've never been able to get answers to. Add to the fact that he's shown up out of the blue to become the person I most closely work with could account for my mixed emotions.

"Tough day already?" asks a laughing voice. "It's only nine o'clock."

I lift my head from my hands. Standing in front of me is Alice Finnegan, the editor and a close friend of me. She's small and rounded with blonde hair and a laugh that flows throughout all the conversation she holds. Still, she's calm and a voice of reason. Her long hair is twisted into a neat bun and her clear blue eyes sparkle.

I give her a wry look. "Time is irrelevant to my problems."

"Well there's nothing a cup of tea won't help," she says, switching on the kettle before settling down across from me, crossing her legs.

"You sound like my mother," I say with a chuckle before growing serious. "And I usually agree, but this time tea won't fix anything."

"I said help, not fix," Alice corrects me. "Feel like talking about it?"

I shake my head. "Not really, but thanks for offering."

I haven't told anyone besides Jess what happened between Stewart and me five years ago that caused me to take the offer in New York. It's always felt too private to share, and now I have even less enthusiasm for the idea: I don't want people to think Stewart and I are starred crossed lovers or something.

Alice shrugs easily. "Well, if you need to you know where to find me."

I smile and lean across the table to squeeze her hand. "Thanks."

Sometimes it's nice to have a friend who's content to offer help and not force it on you. In that way Alice is the opposite of Janelle. If Janelle saw me now, she'd practically be on top of me, trying to figure out what's wrong. While I appreciate both qualities, right now what I need is the offer of support without being pushed.

The two of us sit, chatting for a few more minutes and then, taking her mug of tea, Alice stands to leave. Just as she's in the doorway, she pauses. "Say, Emma. I'm having a little holiday get-together. I know it's short notice, but I'd love it if you'd come. You can bring Victor if you'd like."

I smile at her. "Thanks, Alice. I'll be there—speaking of which, where is 'there'?"

She gives me the address of her apartment. It's a swanky part of downtown Manhattan, an easy train ride from my apartment. With a last smile, she departs, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. I nurse my cup of tea for a few more minutes before realizing that I'm clearly stalling. Returning to the cubicle, I see Stewart scribbling on a sheet of paper. Seeing me, he tucks it into his pocket and smiles.

"Got your caffeine fix?" he asks, nodding to my mug.

I shake my head. "Just some tea, actually."

He shrugs. "Just as effective, I'm sure."

I smile politely. "I suppose so. Anyway, should we get to work?"

Five o'clock comes not a moment too soon. The moment the clock in the bottom right hand corner of my screen changes, I shrug on my coat, eager to leave.

However, as I pass Hobson's office, he calls out to me. "Hawthorne! A word if you please."

I step into his office which is piled high with books and papers. He's sitting at his desk, drinking a mug of coffee.

"Yes, sir?" I ask, wondering why he called me in.

"Did you have a good day?" he asks, watching me carefully.

"Yes, sir," I reply.

"And what do you think of your new partner?"

I pause, trying to be diplomatic. "I think we have the potential to work very well together."

He snorts. "Potential?" he says sarcastically. "I'd say you work well together right now. In fact, I think you two will end up being my star duo."

"What makes you think that, sir?" I ask politely.

"Don't play dumb, Hawthorne," he says. "The two of you used to read each other's work all the time, not to mention you helped run a winning mayoral campaign."

I gape at him. "How did you know?"

"Ever Googled yourself?" he asks me. I shake my head mutely. "Type in 'Emma Hawthorne' and once you get past your articles for the _Times_ and your hot-shot boyfriend, there are only about fifty articles about Lily Wong of Concord for mayor and her talented _teenage_ campaign managers."

A realization dawns on me. "You knew that we knew each other. You played dumb when Stewart said that we worked on the school paper," I accuse him.

He shrugs. "Guilty. I read some of the articles. They were pretty good."

I glare at him and am about to snap at him when I remember he's my boss and is responsible for my paycheck.

"So don't screw it up with Chadwick," he warns. "Together, your articles will be top-notch."

I nod stiffly. "Very well. May I leave now?"

"Go, and be prepared to work tomorrow," he says.

I nod again and hurry out to the lobby, relieved to be leaving this workday behind.

_Author's Note: __As always, I apologize for any mistakes (grammatical or other), feel free to point them out, and I'll fix them.__Thanks for all the reviews and favorites! I'm glad to know that so many people enjoy my stories: _

_Sunflowerstar481: I really appreciate you pointing out that Stewart has dark hair; I always assume that because Becca has blonde hair, he does as well! No need to apologize for long reviews; they make my day! _

_Dess4ever: Thanks! _

_Venturian Girl__: Thanks! I'm really hoping you all continue to enjoy the revised version of The New Life! _


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three: In Which Victor Extends an Invitation _

"I'm just saying, you could have given me some warning," Victor says from where he's perched on the edge of my bed.

I sigh as I step into a navy blue dress. "I know Vic, but it was just a really chaotic day."

"Mine was too," he points out. "I was hoping we could have a quiet night in."

I glance into the mirror to make sure my dress is straight. Behind me, I can see Victor looks tired and is holding a bottle of wine in his hand. When I got home, I realized I hadn't told Victor about Alice's party. When he learned about it, he was fairly annoyed, having cooked us dinner. I feel a little guilty, but I _do_ want to go to Alice's party.

After zipping up my dress, I turn around, and cross my arms. "Look, if you don't want to come to the party, that's fine. You shouldn't feel obligated. I just thought you'd like to come and meet some people from work."

Without waiting for a response, I spin around and head to my closet where I begin digging around for a pair of heels. I hear the bed creak, the sound of a wine bottle being put down, and then a pair of arms wrap around my waist.

"Emma," Victor says.

I don't turn my head, and so he uses a finger to tip my face towards his.

"Of course I'll come to the party," he says softly.

"I don't want you to come if you just want to avoid a fight," I tell him, training my gaze on the floor.

He shakes his head. "No, I do want to meet all your co-workers." A slight smile crosses his face. "I know you'd do the same for me."

I smile at him, a wide, genuine one. "Thanks," I say, giving him a peck on the lips.

"Emma! It's so nice to see you! You look fantastic!" Alice gushes as she swings open the door to her apartment. She turns to Victor. "And you must be Victor! I've heard so much about you."  
I laugh and hug her. "Stop, you'll give him a big head."

Victor laughs too and shakes Alice's hand. "Likewise."

"Come on in," Alice says, opening the door wider. The sound of music and chatter drifts out. "There's a buffet in the living room and drinks in the kitchen."

We step into the hallway and Alice shows us where to put our coats. She then heads into the kitchen and Victor and I go into the living room.

"Wow," I say, glancing around. "I didn't expect there to be so many people."

At least thirty-five people are milling around the large living room. I only recognize a fraction of the people.

"Well," Victor says, "Alice seems to be quite the social butterfly. She probably has a lot of friends."

"I suppose so."

We wander around for a bit, introducing ourselves to various people before positioning ourselves by a huge window that gives us a clear view of downtown Manhattan. Alice's apartment is a mixture of minimal and home-style while still feeling cohesive and welcoming. I'm enjoying watching the going-ons but after a while, I can feel Victor is getting a bit restless and so I suggest we go and find some food.

As we enter the dining room, I spot a blonde head by the buffet. I freeze, unsure if it's really him. But when he turns and I can see his profile, there's no doubt that it's really him.

_What's he doing here?_ I think frantically._ I can't deal with him now! _

Plastering a smile on my face, I turn to Victor. "Actually, do you mind waiting a few minutes for dinner? I'm suddenly really thirsty."

"Of course," he replies, seeming not to notice anything amiss.

We retrace out steps through the living room and hall and find the kitchen which is also full of people chatting, holding wine glasses.

"Would you mind finding me a drink?" I ask Victor. "I want to ask Alice something."

"Sure," he replies and vanishes into the crowd.

I stand on my tip-toes and search the room for Alice. Luckily, her blonde hair makes her hard to miss and I spot her arranging snack dishes. Despite the number of people, I reach her easily.

"Hey, Alice," I say casually.

She looks up and smiles broadly. "Emma! Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Of course," I reply. "How could I not?"

"That's great to hear," she says, her hands moving quickly as she slices cheese and lays out crackers.

"I just have a quick question," I say, resting a hand lightly on her arm so she pauses and looks at me.

"Yes?" she asks, looking puzzled at my intensity.

"Did you invite Stewart, my new partner?" I ask her.

Her eyes widen. "Oh yes, I did actually. I ran into him as I was leaving. I figured that since he was new to town that this might be a nice chance for him to meet some new people. I remember how hard it was when I first moved here."

I sigh. I can't blame her for inviting him. For one thing, she doesn't know that Stewart and I have a past, and besides, she was just being nice.

"Was inviting him a problem?" she says, watching me intently.

"Not at all," I say. "It was incredibly nice of you to do so."

She smiles and I tell her I'll see her later before sliding into the crowd to find Victor. He's standing by the doorway, holding two glasses of wine.

"I was wondering where you'd gotten to," he smiles.

I smile back and take the glass he offers me. "Let's go find some food."

Luckily for me, Stewart is nowhere in sight when we reach the dining room. While Victor grabs us plates, I scope out what's on offer. I smile slightly when I see wonton wrappers with a green onion "ribbon." After the Mother-Daughter-Book-Club progressive dinner, my father made them every year. It's like having a piece of home here.

I take a step back to go show Victor when I bump into someone, jostling their plate.

"I'm so sor—" I cry, spinning around. My voice trails off when I see who it is.

"It's my fault," Stewart Chadwick apologizes, adjusting his plate.

I give a small smile to cover my confusion. "Sorry, anyway. I didn't realize you'd be here."

He looks vaguely amused. "You didn't expect me to be behind you or to be at Alice's party?"

"Um, both I suppose," I say, flustered.

Victor materializes next to me and hands me a plate. "Here you go. I'm starving." He pauses when he sees Stewart next to me.

I incline my head towards Stewart. "Victor, this is Stewart Chadwick. He's my new partner at work, the one I've been waiting for. And Stewart, this is Victor Cahill, my boyfriend."

I see a flicker of an emotion in Stewart's eyes, but it's gone too fast for me to identify. Victor doesn't seem to have noticed it and is heartily shaking Stewart's hand.

"I hope you'll pull your weight," he tells Stewart with a laugh. "Emma's been working herself into the ground lately."

"Ignore Victor," I tell Stewart, keeping my voice light. "He always thinks I'm working too hard."

"That's because it's true," Victor protests, putting an arm around my shoulders. "She's a workaholic."

I can see Stewart's smile is becoming strained, so I slide out from Victor's embrace and return to the buffet. "Doesn't this all look delicious?" I ask the two men. "Alice must've gone to a ton of work to make all of this."

They flank me on either side and begin helping themselves.

"Emma," Stewart says, "when I first saw these wonton wrappers I immediately thought of your father and the New Year's Eve party."

"That's what I thought of too," I admit, putting three on my plate.

"Wait," Victor interrupts. "You two know each other? I mean, from before this?"

Stewart flicks me an incredulous glance that plainly says _You didn't tell him?_

I ignore him and turn to Victor. "Yeah, um, we both come from Concord. Our families were close. I was friends with Stewart's sister."

I hear Stewart snort slightly, but Victor doesn't seem to hear it. "Wow, that's great! Emma, it'll be nice to have someone you know so well working with you."

"I suppose so," I murmur.

"Actually," Victor says, his eyes bright, "why don't you spend New Year's with us, Stewart?"

I gape at him for a moment before regaining my senses. "I'm sure that Stewart has plans, Vic…"

"Nonsense," Victor says. "I insist that you come over, Stewart. We're having a little get-together. It'll be a pleasure to have you."

Stewart gives a polite smile. "I'd love to, Victor. Thank you for the invitation."

I close my eyes briefly. What just happened?

"I'm just saying, you could have given me some warning," I tell Victor as we head down the stairs to the subway, aware I'm starting an argument.

He sighs in exasperation and it's a déjà vu from earlier this evening, only this time, I'm the one who's been blindsided.

"Look, Em. He's just moved here and obviously doesn't have a girlfriend. Or at least not one in the city. It's likely he'll be alone for Christmas and having one extra person for New Year's won't be a problem."

"You don't know that he doesn't have a girlfriend," I argue. "Besides, he has family back home."

"If he has family, why did he accept the invitation?" he fires back. "And trust me, he doesn't have a girlfriend."

"How do you know?"

"If he did, he would've brought her along to Alice's party. No guy wants to go to a party alone if he doesn't have to."

I've run through all of my arguments about why inviting Stewart is a bad idea so I lean against the platform wall and take a deep breath. After a moment, I feel Victor give me a peck on the cheek.

"I don't suppose you're in the mood to have me stay over at your place," he says. "I'll head home, then. See you tomorrow."

I nod and wave as he retreats towards the train that will take him back to his apartment.

On the Upper East Side, my apartment seems very empty and dark until I feel a cat twine itself around my legs. I lean down to pet Hocus before switching on the lights. On the hall table is a stack of mail that Victor must have picked up. I flip through it as I head down the hall to my bedroom where I change into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before sitting on the sofa. Checking my phone, I see it's only 10:40 PM, not too late to call Jess.

She picks up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, Jess. It's Emma."

"Oh, hey, Em. What's up?"

I hesitate. I want to tell her about Stewart, but I also want to know what's going on with her. We haven't talked in over a week—an eternity in our friendship.

"Not much. You getting geared up for Christmas?"

"Uh, yeah, definitely," she says, sounding oddly evasive. "You?"

"Definitely. I still need to get a tree, though. But anyway, how's Darcy? How's work?" I ask her.

She laughs. "Darcy's fine. Working like a fiend especially since midterms are coming up." Darcy—not to the surprise of any of us—became an extremely successful history professor and is currently working at Bennington College. "And I'm also working like crazy. You should see our house. It's a complete wreck."

I laugh as well. It's not surprising such a high-powered couple like Darcy and Jess have no time for housework. While Darcy teaches, Jess is a biochemist engineer, an occupation I don't quite understand. But it seems very difficult and I'm positive I wouldn't be able to make a head or a tail out of it.

"Talking of work," she says. "The last time we talked, you were all excited over getting a new partner. What're they like?"

"Oh!" I gasp. "Yeah, I'll give you three guesses who it is."

Jess laughs. "You know I hate guessing games, Em."

"Fine," I relent. "It's Stewart."

Jess makes a choked noise. "Stewart _Chadwick_?"

"Yeah," I say. Jess understands. She's the only one I told the truth to about what happened between Stewart and I that caused us to break up.

"Oh, Em, I'm so sorry," she sighs.

"I know. It's crazy," I reply. "And now Victor's invited him over for New Year's Eve."

"At least it wasn't Christmas," Jess laughs.

"But it just seems to…intrusive to have him at my party. How can we act normally together given everything that's happened?"

Jess sighs. I can imagine her, sitting on her couch at home, twirling her braid around her finger, a crease in between her eyebrows as she thinks. "I'm not sure. The fact you never had closure with him makes it difficult. But it's possible you two can be friends if you decide that's what you want—or rather, what you're ready for."

"Maybe you should've become a therapist instead of a scientist," I joke, trying to take my mind off my next question.

"Maybe," she laughs slightly.

"So, I'm wondering if I should tell Victor who Stewart is."

"I figured you wouldn't have told him," Jess remarks. "But I think you definitely should."

I gulp. I knew that was what she was going to say, but I'm still dreading the prospect of telling Victor.

"It'll be fine, Em," Jess reassures me. "It's better you do it now rather than have him assume you're keeping secrets.

"Right," I say firmly. "I'll tell him next time we're alone." I realize that it's getting late. "I should go. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye," she says and then the line is dead.

Despite everything that happened last night, I'm in a good mood this morning. It might have something to do with the fact that this is my last day of work before Christmas break.

I even manage a smile for Miranda as I enter the newsroom.

To my surprise, Stewart is already seated when I get to the cubicle. As I unwind my scarf and drape my coat over the back of my chair, he spins around and watches me.

"Look," he says, "if you don't want me to come to your New Year's Eve party, I get it."

I pretend to smooth a wrinkle in my shirt to give myself time to collect my thoughts. A moment passes before I look at him.

"Okay, Stewart," I say. "Tonight, I'm going to tell Victor that we used to date. Then it's going to be his decision whether he still wants you to come over. But for the record, I'm game for you to join us."

He nods. "That's fair."

I tilt my head and watch him curiously. "Are you really not spending the holidays with your parents and Becca?"

He smiles slightly. "Mom and Dad are taking a cruise to the Bahamas and Becca's out in Minnesota with Theo."

"Right," I say reply, thinking of the card I received from Becca a week ago with her and Theo standing outside their new house. "And no…relationship other than that?"

"Are you asking me if I'm single?" Stewart asks me, looking amused. I sigh; being made of fun by him is getting old. "But no, we broke up before I moved here."

I feel a knot in my stomach—one that I didn't even realize was there—loosen at the admission that he doesn't have a girlfriend. I frown, why does it matter? What he does with his life is his business; he made that abundantly clear five years ago.

Still, it makes a little easier for me to work with him knowing that he's single and has agreed to my terms for New Year's. But by five o'clock, all my apprehension has come back but now it has to do with telling Victor about Stewart.

"Hello?" I call as I unlock the door to my apartment.

"In here!" Victor calls and I follow his voice to the living room where he's busy untangling lights for the Christmas tree. He glances up when I appear in the doorway. "How was your day?"

I shrug. "Busy, but it was my last one before break. And yours?"

"It ended early, thankfully, so I picked up a Christmas tree. It's out in the hallway."

"Oh, I was wondering whose that was," I call over my shoulder as I head back to the hall closet to take off my coat and shoes.

"Well, Christmas is only a few days away," he points out.

I rejoin him in the living room and sit on the sofa next to him, pulling my feet up beneath me. "Victor, I think we need to talk."

He looks up from the lights, a frown on his face. "I've been thinking the same thing."

"So, I know we had a disagreement about Stewart coming over for New Year's Eve—"

"He doesn't have to if you don't want to," Victor interrupts. "It's fine, I'm serious."

I smile weakly. "Well, that's actually it. I'm fine with it, but I think you should make the final decision because there's something I haven't told you." Victor watches me expectantly. "The thing is, he's actually my, well, um, we used to date."

Victor's eyebrows shoot up. I don't blame him; I haven't exactly been forthcoming with details about my life before I moved to New York. He knows the bare-bones; my family and Jess.

"Oh, um, that's fine?" says Victor, sounding slightly confused.

"It was a long time ago," I rush to reassure him. "I just wanted to tell you to clear the air."

He nods slowly, still looking deep in thought before turning to look at me, his face serious. "And it's over? No spark, no anything?"

I frown. The truth is, I'm not sure. There could potentially be something, but I've got an awesome boyfriend. Why would I want anything else?"

So, I say, "Nope. No nothing. It was a long time ago."

"Good. So it shouldn't be a problem that he's coming over?" Victor leans in and kisses me. When he pulls away, he smiles at me. "You know I love you, right?"

I smile back. "I love you, too."

"So, I've been thinking. We've been together for three years and I think it's time for the next step. Emma, will you move in with me?"


End file.
